Last Kiss
by the lights above
Summary: He'd tasted of peaches and sugar and love. / JamesLily / Written for the Last Kiss challenge.


_Written for the Last Kiss challenge on HPFC. My first attempt at Lily/James._

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><p>She's just slammed the door on the cold, having poked her head outside to get a breeze of fresh air (she likes to sneak a couple every once in a while), and smiles at the sound of laughter coming from the drawing room. Leaning against the doorway, she watches the dark-haired man throw up her child and catch him easily, his Quidditch-flexed muscles used to this game he and their son play. He cradles the child to his sweater, the one her mother had made for him last Christmas and turns to her, a cheerful grin on his face.<p>

"Lils." He says, the nickname from when they were first-time lovers in their last year of school rolling off his tongue with ease. She smiles wider and stands up straight, one arm reaching for her son while the other wraps around his abdomen.

Her boy, the replica of her husband, rolls his bright green eyes at her and gurgles happily. She smoothes his black hair from his face, freeing James from the burden of his weight and her lips plant a soft kiss to his temple.

"How's dinner?" The question is aimed at her pathetic husband, who had proffered to cook a little something special for the occasion after he'd caused havoc in the house earlier in the day by pulling a prank straight out of the days he knew her as Evans and she had a Slytherin best friend. She knows she'll probably end up having to finish the job herself, but she doesn't really mind, as long as it's not a major disaster.

Sure enough, his face pales at the mention and his hand, caressing her collar, pauses mid-stroke. His hazel eyes are wide behind the glasses and he glances quickly at the kitchen, taking an inconspicuous sniff.

She laughs, causing Harry to shake with the movement of her body, and smiles in an almost helpless way as James scoots off to take care of the turkey that's probably burning in the pan. She hears his yelp and desperate cry of her name and sighs, smiling even as she did, and carefully placing Harry on the couch, she follows her husband's steps into the kitchen.

She almost dies at the doorway. The kitchen looks like there was turkey explosion in there, and her husband stands in the middle of the room, looking down at the meat and spices that litter her tiles. She'd only polished them last night.

"James."

She says, quietly, stepping over scraps of burned turkey, pulling her wand out of her rear pocket as she does. Her hand pulls at James's sleeve, pulling him out of the way as she uses cleaning spells and reparation spells on the tiny kitchen. When she turns, James looks at her like the sheepish boy she remembers from school and fallen in love with. Her heart melts, but she manages to keep her face disapproving, the way she'd perfected in school.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs, pulling her to him by the washer, against his warm body. It's distracting and she needs to remind herself their young son is only fourteen steps away from finding them to stop her hands trailing all over him.

"I know." She pulls out of his embrace, walks towards the doorway and turns, realizing he's not following her. His face is devasting. Muscles crunched up in disappointment, eyes still sparkling with admiration and want. He looks like a fallen angel, like a man who's just stepped over broken glass.

She moves fluidly towards him, wanting to appease him, and her arms go around him, her palms flat against the top of the washer. He dips his head quickly, catching on with the fast pace, and takes a taste of her. It's not enough.

Her hands stay put on the washer, because if her hands go on him, there's no question about control. So she stays like that, arms not touching him, lips thriving underneath his fierce kiss, tongue rolling occasionally to lick his lip.

They break apart to the sound of a baby's grunt and she floats back into the room, her face flushed and a radiant smile on her pink lips. James's arms wrap around her waist as he follows close behind and she feels like a locomotive engine, trailed by the coaches. James sniggers along with her, reading her thoughts. She loves him for it.

She asks James to change Harry into his pyjamas, the blue ones that Marlene had given her when she came to congratulate the couple on the birth of their son, smiling at him when she says "I'll have to go fix a new supper."

He smiles apologetically at her, knowing that she's already forgiven him, but playing his role in her game, scrambles Harry up into his arms, and pulling the boy up on his shoulders, races upstairs with an enthusiastic yell. Lily shakes her head at nothingness before trailing off calmly to fix them a Halloween dinner.

The whiff of Lily's classical roast chicken hangs in the air when the boys come to her and she greets them with a peaceful smile, having pacified her excitement with the practiced slices and chops. James kisses the top of her head, stroking loose strands of red hair as he sits down opposite her. She pulls little Harry up into her lap and feeds him the delicate baby mush he hates eating and she hates giving him, before taking a fork and knife to her plate.

When she charms the plates into the sink to be washed and dried, he is in the living room, idly blowing puffs of smoke with, watching their son laugh in amusement and stretch his tiny arms out to capture them. She pauses for a second before entering and breaking up the peaceful movement with the announcement that it was Harry's bedtime.

He looks at her with a sort of sad longing and she realizes how much he must have wanted to have her to himself, love their son though he did. He scoops the boy into his arms, passes him to her, smoothly caressing her hands as he did so and looking straight into her eyes as if saying, _I'll be waiting_. She allows her lips to curve into that promising smile he likes and, pressing kisses to her son's neck, gracefully moves upstairs. She hears him settle back down with a loud yawn.

She's on the third step up the second set of stairs when she hears it.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"

There's frenzy in her husband's usually calm, suave voice and she recognizes genuine fear. She immediately understands this is not another of James's childish pranks and the real thing. She glances fearfully at the bottom of the landing, and she can feel the sweep of cold air that has intruded their home and lives and she follows her husband's pleas, taking a run for it, even though the thought of him alone holding _him_ off hits her like knives on her back. Harry shakes in her arms, and she tries to stop the tremble in her arms, tries to think of what to do, but there's already a scream, a scream of death and footsteps slam her squeaky clean staircase flooring.

She doesn't scream, even though she's never been more scared in her life, until she sees his face. He has none. It's all white skin but there are no human features, nothing that could make him one of them, no matter how inhuman his actions are. He's the sort of monster that appears in childhood horror stories, the type she wants away from her son.

She begs and pleads and offers, but he's impatient after the first sentence, and beneath the dark cloak that he wears to hide whatever ugliness is underneath, a white hand lifts. His fingers curl around the wood of his wand and the same spell that killed her love hisses into the air and green light strikes her chest.

Her last thought before she drops is not of this ugly monster with its non-existent face and white flesh; it's not even of her son whimpering in the cot; it's of her husband and how his forehead wrinkles when he smiles, how his glasses leave marks in the curve of his nose near his eyes, the sweet-talk that spills from him when they're alone, how his lips feel against hers, how they had felt with him pressed against the washer in the kitchen, how his tongue had dipped deep into her, how he'd tasted of peaches and sugar and _love_.

Lily Potter's last thought is that her last kiss had been the best of all.


End file.
